


January 1979

by Malhearst



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Black Family (Harry Potter), Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 21:21:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6167242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malhearst/pseuds/Malhearst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regulus has one final request for his brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	January 1979

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [Julichris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julichris/pseuds/Julichris) in the [HPprompts](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/HPprompts) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> It is my head-canon that Regulus wasn't that different from Sirius. But seeing how their mother reacted to Sirius, Regulus chose to conform with his mother's wishes and expectations and ended up ignoring his loved and admired brother and becoming a Death Eater, until he couldn't stand it any more end gave his live revolting against Voldemort.
> 
> What I'd like to see: One or more pivotal moments in Regulus' life. What precisely caused him to make the decisions he made? What and who influenced his life? What were his feelings when he did things he didn't want to do, but did in order to preserve the peace with his mother? Did he have any help? Friends who knew about his problems? Did he try to stay in contact with Sirius? 
> 
> I strongly prefer GEN, no rape/ non-con, no drawn out torture (unless necessary for the plot), Walburga being reasonable and nice unless Sirius and blood-politics are concerned (bad people can be nice, too, after all, and believe that they are doing the right thing).
> 
> But I understand that plot-bunnies sometimes have their own mind.

"Five of Cups -" Regulus sighed to himself wistfully, "- no kidding."

 The painted card showed two people, each on their own precipice, a broken bond between them and their backs turned on each other. Something about the image reminded him of his brother and it made him angry. His chest tied itself in knots and he snapped a hurried breath of air before rising from his seat on the floor.

 Before him, the door opened.

 "Kreacher was wondering if Mr. Black would like to know that Mistress has left the house."

 Regulus, aware that there was no dust on his cloak and running his hand down it all the same, looked at the house elf evenly. The rags on his old, spindly body seemed to accentuate the mark of death that hung on him - he was no longer a creature of this world, having seen his own death and unavoidably escaped it.

 Briefly, Regulus wondered what it might be like to know that your life was in the hands of others and that it was running like sand through their fingers.

 "Thank you, Kreacher," Regulus said kindly and nodded his head once to indicate that his servant might be excused.

  _Servant._ The word ran cold down his spine, reminding him of his own words; he, too, had seen his own death and was now welcoming it in the hands of himself.

 There had always been a special kinship between Kreacher and himself.

 A brother where there no longer was one.

 The door closed with a withering croak; like everything else in this house, it was falling apart and giving in to old age. Grimmauld Place had been built in splendour only to give way for mortality. Though dust didn't line its halls yet, it would soon be without sons and Regulus was awfully aware that it was his fault.

 "Have any letters arrived, Kreacher?" Regulus demanded, donning his winter cloak, dark green and silver, as if the family was only something in connection to their house.

 Whether it was Slytherin or Grimmauld Place, it seemed that the Blacks had always been defined by four walls. Breaking them was sacrilege, family a religion, but Regulus refused to feel sorry for anyone who had chosen their own path.

 ( _He_ left _me_.)

 (And yet, I still run to him.)

 Outside, the ground was covered in snow. Big, fat snowflakes fell like feathers, floating down gently. Something serene filled Regulus at the sight, looking down to watch the marks of his footsteps in the snow, delighted at the crunching sound made by his weight against the thick, white carpet. A part of him felt immediately attracted to this childish idea that he could stick out his tongue and let the flakes melt on it, the way they had done in unison when he was younger, brothers in spirit and mind. Mother in the background, disapproving of their boyish behaviours, both of them burning with shame at her flaming words, both of them smiling with mischief when locking eyes a second later. Father in front, always two steps ahead and too elevated for childcare.

 A second later, the memory ( - constructed or otherwise, it was a wisp of a distant past in any case, one he would now never get to see  again - ) filled him with inanity.

 Mother would worry, her hand white from the strain of her wringing, skin already thinning, veins showing. They never had allowed Sirius the one thing he had actually asked for - humanity - as if giving their eldest son what he wanted would be weakness, and for a second, Regulus's own heart softened with forgiveness of his brother.

 But Mother would sit beside the dressing table, perfuming her hands and neck ( - Father could smell weakness, she would sometimes indulge Regulus when he had to man up, her words monotone, her eyes conspiratorial - ), her blonde hair a soft contrast to the black and white and greens of her bedroom. She would put her pearls down softly in the lamplight as if control over her immediate environment gave her control over those far away, as if a single loud noise might be the push that her only son needed to tip in his absence.

 She couldn't know he had already tipped, that the note she would never read had already been written and that he had made a greater rebellion than Sirius. His brother had made his choices in spite; he could still be made to see the light, he would have a life to object to when Regulus was gone, but Regulus already loved her and he had chosen ideals as his final breath.

 The thoughts almost overpowered him and he apparated in a whirl of tears and a taste of bile in his mouth.

 Upon arrival, he took a few paces towards the gate, knowing Sirius still knew him well enough that he would think Regulus too much of a coward to enter. Rigid with cold, with apprehension and with anxiety, Regulus plunged his hands deep into his pockets and looked unmovingly towards the Shrieking Shack.

 It didn't take long before three easy footsteps announced his brother's arrival.

 Sirius, though Regulus only dared look out the corner of his eye, walked over, turned on his heel and leaned heavily against the iron gate, which in turn rattled in the wheezing wind. Regulus shuddered invisibly, waiting silently while Sirius coolly lit a cigarette with a Muggle lighter.

 Regulus rolled his eyes.

 "Brother," Sirius greeted spitefully.

 "Sirius," Regulus returned acridly, his blood already boiling.

 "Got your note," Sirius said, making a show of pulling it out, letting it dance a few steps on the wind and then incinerating it, " _I know about the wolf._ How dramatic."

 Though he was maintaining a certain coldness of tone, annoyance laced his voice and Regulus smiled momentarily, dismissively.

 "Don't worry, _brother,_ " Regulus heard himself say, regretting the track the conversation so easily fell into, wanting to redeem himself, to redeem them all, one last time, "I won't contact you again."

 For the first time since his brother had showed, he dared look to his side. Sirius had glanced at him in an insecure moment but was now setting his eyes upon the Hogsmeade horizon with steely determination. His hair had grown longer ( - what had never been allowed in their home; by contrast, Regulus's hair was smooth and shining with hair product, perfection instilled from the first waking hour - ), his attitude had grown ruthless. There was a certain haunted note in his voice, a small crack that Regulus knew too well to doubt himself when he decided it had never been there before.

 The wind blew harder and his hat almost took off.

 Sirius wasn't wearing one.

 "Then what do you want, brother mine?" Sirius asked again, the same pretense he'd kept up since finding friends to be 'real' around. It was a certain pureblood tone, affectionate words and distanced voice.

 Regulus hated it.

 "I want you to read something for me."

 "Why, hasn't our parents given you a proper education?"

 Between closed teeth, Regulus hissed, "Just- listen to me."

 This made Sirius perk up, although he didn't change his attitude; his back still against the gate that Regulus was staring away from, his eyes still fixed somewhere without connection to what his brother was looking at. Only, now did he glance from time to time at Regulus, somehow visibly shaken without noticeably changed at all.

 Regulus was satisfied.

 "Here," he said, shoving a sealed envelope in Sirius's hands, "in a couple of months, read this."

 "Why in a couple of months?"

 "I can't say," Regulus said hurriedly, tired, "Just promise me."

 Sirius threw him a suspicious look.

 "Please?" Regulus asked harshly. He hated pleading, because it meant he needed something from someone who was opposed to paying him even the most civil of favours.

 "Fine." Sirius shrugged and Regulus took it as concession enough to start walking back to Hogsmeade. He needed to cool off, but it went quicker than he expected; somehow, knowing that all that needed to be said between them, all the hurt, all the forgiveness, all the apologies, the pleas to come home, the humility to ask forgiveness for his parents, for joining the wrong cause, for returning Sirius's teenage-spite with more of his own, would be read by his brother once he was gone, would be understood in the light of his sacrifice, would help calm his father and heal the wound of his mother as Sirius returned home with balm in his hands, that maybe that letter would be able to bring his twisted, broken family back together.

* * *

 A couple of years later, Regulus's disappearance unannounced, the fight against the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters intensifying, Sirius further estranged from a family he only remembered by their allegiance, the letter was picked up amongst others of Sirius's belongings and destroyed as Sirius was sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban.


End file.
